


Methods for Coping

by codenamecynic



Series: The Hatesex Chronicles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Hate Sex, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self-hate, sex, and dubious motives. Anders/Sebastian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Methods for Coping

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the kink-meme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9086.html?thread=36569982#t36569982

Sebastian comes to the clinic after hours and just the sight of the man alone is enough to make him seethe. He’s tired, the place is filthy, and everything always smells like blood, so much so that his little hovel might as well be a torture chamber. Everything is old and rotted including him, festering from the inside out.

Sebastian does not smell like clotted blood. He isn’t tarnished or dirty, not a smudge nor a scratch on his ridiculous, sanctimonious armor. But he still belongs here with all the rest because Sebastian is _hungry,_ Anders can see it in his face. He might not smell like suffering, but he reeks of desperation.

The door locks behind the archer in as much as the door ever locks, and the sound of an unsteady bolt being thrown makes him lightheaded, the backs of his arms prickling with anger, pulse leaping because fire wants to explode out of his fingertips and Sebastian doesn’t even have to say anything to make Anders want to char them both to ashes.

He might hate this man more even than he hates templars, but even then it is only second best to how truly, how deeply he hates himself.

He wants to smash bottles, flip over his table, but then Anders never has been any good at outward displays of anger when it had always been so much easier just to fuck away his feelings. He misses that, misses the way things used to be when he could afford to flirt, to laugh, to make suggestive comments and turn them away with an equal hand, childish and stupid and slutty. He misses being able to do what he wants to do just because he wants it. He hates this, hates that he needs to fuel the anger just to feel anything at all.

“Mage, I have need of you.” Sebastian’s voice rasps, straining with discomfort and it is all he can do not to lash out with his words, his hands, his magic.

Of course he does; they all need him, whether they like it or not. It was his job to fix the things that got broken; Hawke would be missing an eye if not for him, Fenris an arm. For all the good it did anybody.

_Distractions,_ Justice whispers, but they are distractions he needs. It hurts – he never thought anything could hurt so much – but the pain is better than emptiness, than the void in his soul, a man-shaped hole where this thing called Anders used to be.

It doesn’t matter really, because Sebastian only ever calls him _mage_ when he needs to forget that Anders is a person and not just a person-shaped thing. But that’s alright too because Sebastian is kissing him with a mouth that tastes of mint and incense, and no one ever kisses him anymore. He isn’t even sure that he likes it but doesn’t have to decide because the archer pushes him into the wall and he _knows_ he doesn’t like that, lashing out with both hands against an armor-padded chest.

They struggle. They just do. Every time. Sebastian gets out of his hold, wriggles away, escapes, but Anders is always meant to win and by the time they are finished he has the rogue bent over his work table like a task to be completed. That’s closer to the truth than Anders ever really wants to think about and so he doesn’t. He has always been a wastrel mage, relying on magic to accomplish mundane tasks. Wrestling with Sebastian is exhausting and he can’t be angry if he’s tired, and a touch of carefully applied force magic holds a person in place with far more efficacy and far less effort than ropes or hands clasped around wrists.

There was a time when the trappings were half the point, but he wants to be done with this, wants to be _alone,_ wants his mind all to himself even if it is for just half a second. His cock is hard and Justice is quiet, quailing with a confusion that Anders has begun to covet. Justice doesn’t understand _needs_ but he understands _hate,_ and this is both.

Sebastian swears at him, growls curses and epithets, but he isn’t listening; it’s just something he _does,_ the same way he puts the Andraste belt buckle face up on the table and grabs a handful of the priest’s red hair so he has to look at it. The priest has needs too, else neither of them would even be here

A wave of his hand summons grease to his fingertips. Sebastian hates it, because it’s magic, because it means Anders can do anything he wants to him, anywhere, anytime, and that’s most of the point in doing it. The rest is that it’s easy. Magic is easy, he doesn’t have to think about it.

He covers himself with slick, and that is as far as his preparation goes. The liar – _priest_ – is not inexperienced, and if there is pain… well. Then there is pain. Anders doesn’t care. Sebastian doesn’t either.

Sometimes the priest weeps with Anders inside him; it should fill him with horror, but all he feels is satisfaction. It burns them both, the tight stretch of Sebastian’s ass around his cock, dangerous friction born of hasty decisions made, too little preparation and too long between these interludes. They are turning pages, chapters in a long book, and more than anything Anders just wants to see it over.

Like any good story, though, it takes a while to get to the end. Sebastian comes apart beneath him, straining against the invisible force that holds him down, the squeeze around his cock, swollen and leaking. Magic, not fingers – Anders doesn’t want to touch him, never wants to touch him, never wants to be touched, but this is the only way either of them knows. Sebastian isn’t real and neither is he, they are both just tools, strategies, methods for coping. The Circle, the Wardens, they have taken everything from him but they have given him this – mastery over himself. Balls deep inside someone else, he is finally _himself._

It’s an unpleasant thing though, an ugly thing because deep down he suspects _he_ is ugly and that maybe is why everything has gone so horribly, terribly wrong. It is certainly the reason that this lasts so very long, driving himself long past satisfaction and into spite. They will both be sore, hurting, but he will heal neither of them. It is his job to fix things, but he is just as responsible for breaking them too.

His whole body leaks taint and it spills into Sebastian, who takes it because he has no choice and because he doesn’t know any better. The priest has his own demons, seeks them cleansed, burned away by the only fire he understands when dry words in a book and the admonitions of an absentee god fail to suffice. Maybe Anders is fixing something after all, but when it’s all over it never feels that way.

Sebastian will come back, in a week, in a month, whenever. It doesn’t matter. Anders will still be here, choking with his own hands around his neck. There has to be some kind of justice in that.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Methods for Coping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10946526) by [BabelGhoti (TheHandmadeTale)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHandmadeTale/pseuds/BabelGhoti)




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